line without a name

 poem inspired by my love 

You touched me once in the quiet,
not like a spark,
but like the way sunlight settles
on a windowsill that’s forgotten it can glow.

You asked if I’d still care
when the storms come,
when my hands shake,
when the world grows too loud and I grow too small.
And darling, I’ve never known another answer
except yes.

I’m a little unsteady without you—
a teacup on a trembling oak table,
a wildflower leaning too hard into the wind.
But when you’re near,
every bone remembers its place,
every breath finds its rhythm
like the soft clink of spoons in morning tea.

I found you by the lake,
knees pulled to your chest,
eyes spilling over like a spring that forgot it was allowed to bloom.
You asked if you were a burden.
Love, you are the reason the path home
never feels empty.

At night I dream of you
watching over the quilted hills,
a lantern in your hands,
a song on your lips—
soft, trembled,
singing me steady.

“She’s a lady,” the wind seems to hum,
“and he is learning to be gentle.”

And maybe I’m a line without a hook,
a sentence waiting for the right touch—
but you, darling,
you are the one who reads me softly,
page by page,
until even my trembling
sounds like love.

Onnaya